


Commentfic roundup #2

by amy_vic



Category: Friday Night Lights, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Human Target (TV 2010), The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, archiving old works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic
Summary: More of what it says on the tin. A gathering of reposted commentfics and other short pieces I've written, varying in age from 2006-2011.





	Commentfic roundup #2

**Author's Note:**

> Skip the 3rd section if you're not here for porn; otherwise, everything's pretty pg-ish.

**1\. In Through the Out Door [The West Wing, Andy/Toby; she says yes to Jeff Wyler's house]**

They argue, of course, even after he’s asked and she’s said yes. They wouldn’t be them if they didn’t. She storms (as much as she can in her current state) out to the car, and gives the dust a minute to settle.

He’s in the doorway, watching her, and she opens her mouth to call out and ask when they can start moving boxes in, but what comes out is, “Toby, my water broke.”

She doesn’t see the house again for three days. When Toby pulls the car in the driveway and says, “We’re home,” she makes a face and looks at him like he’s gone completely mad.

“Toby, I know I said yes, but it’s not actually possible to magically transport all the stuff from my apartment into boxes and over here. You know that, right?” Between herself and the babies and Zoey Bartlet and the twenty-fifth, she’s pretty sure Toby hasn’t had time to scratch his nose, let alone pack up two apartments.

“Just, let’s bring the kids inside, please,” he says, and it’s uncharacteristically quiet and polite enough that Andy does as he asks.

As she follows Toby through the front door and watches him toe off his shoes and drop his keys, she realizes that that’s her little table against the wall, and that he’s hanging up his coat next to four others.

“You...Toby, how did all our stuff get here?”

He shrugs. “I had a little help. Also, please remember that you’ve been in the hospital for three days, so it’s not like I teleported everything here.”

“Oh?” She really does love watching him squirm when she raises an eyebrow at him like that. (It’s a fault.)

He looks up, and the corners of his mouth twitch. It’s entirely possible that he’s never going to tell her how he pulled this off. “Yes. I had help. Now let’s go show the kids their new room.”

 

**2\. [Human Target; Guerrero got beat up by someone who looks like Summer Glau - I'm honestly not sure if it was Orwell (from The Cape), Cameron (The Sarah Connor Chronicles), River Tam (Firefly/Serenity), or just a highly, _highly_ fanon'd version of Summer herself, but...it doesn't actually matter. YMMV.]**

"I’m sorry, tell me that again? Because I must have misheard you. It sounded an awful lot to me like you said you got beat up by—"

"Dude, seriously? Finish that sentence and I will hit you with a crowbar."

"A _girl_."

Guerrero uses a baseball bat instead. (Sometimes getting the upper hand on someone really is all about misdirection.) He figures Chance will be out for at least half an hour, so he goes to the deli down the block for a sandwich.

When he comes back, Chance is making that snuffly little noise that means he’s about five minutes from waking up for real. Guerrero has just enough time to finish his soda and brush the crumbs off his shirt before Chance groans and blinks up at him. "I’m really glad you didn’t use the crowbar, you know."

"Now, like I was trying to say, this woman is dangerous, dude. Came at me without a stitch of protection and no weapons, which tells me that either she has no clue who I am and is incredibly brave, or that she knows who I am and is incredibly stupid, which translates into her being a suicidal freak, because by now, most anyone with a less-than-squeaky-clean rep knows who I am, and knows not to cross me."

"Okay," Chance says slowly, pulling himself up to sit in a chair. Guerrero tosses him an ice pack. "But, really, did you have to hit me for simply stating a fact?"

"Yes, dude. Now help me figure out who this girl is, so that I can at least tie her up and torture her for a little bit."

 

**3\. untitled [Hawaii Five-O, Danny/Rachel; porny little AU for the end of 1x16.]**

Danny drives them back to the house, and as he pulls in the driveway and cuts the engine, Rachel turns in her seat to face him. "Could you, I mean, would you mind," and twists her fingers together in her lap. "Would you like to come in, have a drink? I think after all of this, we could both use one."

He knows what she’s really asking. Roughly translated, she’s saying _This is all so overwhelming, I think I’m freaking out, please don’t leave me alone with all of this_. Stan’s back on a plane to Thailand, which Danny is pretty pissed about; luckily, Steve offered to drive him to the airport so Danny doesn’t have to deal with it, at least not right now.

He knows he could say yes, follow her into the house. They’d send Gracie off to her room to play, maybe watch a movie, and Rachel would pour them both a drink. Probably doubles, considering everything that’s happened today. She’d lean up against the counter, one hand curled around her glass, and make inane small talk until they were sure Grace wasn’t going to come running in to ask for something, and then she’d close the space between them in the time it’d take Danny to blink, and she’d be all over him.

Danny remembers the way she kisses, hard enough to bruise when she meant it, soft when she wanted to tease, drag it out until he begged. (She used to love making him beg almost as much as she used to love begging him.) How she arched against him when he got his hands on either side of her face and kissed her back, pushing her against whatever vertical surface was closest. How he’d wedge his knee between her thighs, cock pressed hard against her hip, and how she’d sometimes look at him like she was going to _die_ if he didn’t keep touching her. How he’d slide to his knees or lift her onto the counter, push up her skirt and suck bruises and little bites onto the insides of her thighs until she clutched his hair in both fists and pulled him a little higher up.

"That’s probably not a good idea, Rachel," he says, reaching out and entwining their hands. She rubs her index finger idly over the rough spot at the base of his thumb, the shooter’s callus he’s had since his third month at the police academy. (He used to make her scream, fingers curling inside her, pressing his hand up against her, callus rubbing her clit until she came—sometimes twice in rapid succession, if she was relaxed enough and he did that thing with his tongue—panting and crying his name.)

They’ve done this before. They could do this again. She’s been his ex-wife for nearly three years, but there are some things you just don’t forget.

Danny untangles his hand, and gets out of the car. He pretends he doesn’t hear her ragged exhale, just as he’s sure she’s ignoring his own. "I’ll call you later, okay? Before you and Gracie go to bed, I’ll call."

 

 

**4\. Mind Like a Diamond [The West Wing/Friday Night Lights; Andy & Molly Wyatt-Ziegler, Tami Taylor. Post-series for both, probably AU, spoilers for the finale of FNL. (Please excuse any and all of the post-secondary lies, fantasies, and fallacies; I graduated high school and went straight into the workforce.)]**

Molly lays out the six catalogues on the dining room table, shuffling them into an order that only she can see. Andy taps her pen lightly, twice. "I’m surprised you only have six."

"I only applied to four schools, Mom," Molly shrugs, doodling a few quick circles on paper she’s already drawn a chart on. (Pros and cons of each school, nine different categories.) "There’s a pile of them up in my room; this is just the shortlist of places that sent me acceptance letters."

Molly knows Andy would like her to stay on the East Coast, so she’s trying not to be too disappointed that the University of Hawaii is out. Although, there’s an Air Force base, like, _right there_ , so it’s not like they couldn’t visit. She also knows that if her mom wins in November, Molly will not only have to contend with starting college in the winter instead of the fall like most people do, but also with having a team of Secret Service agents around. It’s not like they can’t do overseas protection details, but it’s a whole lot easier on everyone if they don’t.

So, Hawaii is out, and so’s Oxford. Molly’s shortlist is down to campuses within five hundred miles of D.C., although, a couple of those are in Canada. After a lot of deliberating, Molly pushes aside her notepad. So far, NYU, Braemore in Philadelphia, and one of the Canadian schools round out her top three. She tries not to take it as a sign that the Braemore open house starts the day after her mom is giving a speech in New Jersey; she’ll just consider it a field trip.

~~~~~

The campus is beautiful, but what really sells them both are the student residences. Instead of a big dorm, students live in houses sprinkled across the campus. They take a quick tour of one, and Molly’s already a little in love with the fact that two of the bedrooms have a bathroom attaching them when a woman walks in. She’s wearing a shirt with the Braemore crest on the pocket, but she doesn’t look like a professor; she kind of reminds Molly of her aunt Mary.

"A lot of the girls don’t like sharing with other people, let alone maybe sharing with a guy," she says, nodding at the open bathroom door. "But you don’t look like that bothers you."

Andy stifles a laugh, and Molly doesn’t even turn to look at her as she makes a shushing gesture and grins at Tami. "Nope; my brother and I have shared a bathroom since we were five."

The woman laughs, and sticks out her hand, first to Molly, and then to Andy. Her handshake is solid, like she actually means it. "I’m Tami Taylor, I’m really glad you guys came down. Is your brother looking at school here, too? There’s a chance we could get you both placed in the same house, if you wanted."

Molly shakes her head. "No, he’s already decided on school in New York. Our dad went there, and Huck’s wanted to go there since he was nine."

"You work in Administration here, don’t you, Tami?" Andy says. Molly gives her a look, and Andy shrugs, just by raising an eyebrow. "Kiddo, you’re not the only one who gets to do her homework."

"Mom..."

"No, Molly, it’s okay," Tami says. "Your mom’s got a lot on her plate without worrying that her daughter could be stuck with a crazy person for a house mother. I assure you both that the craziest thing I’ve ever done is convince my family to move here from Texas. My girls are pretty good about it, although my youngest still thinks it’s too cold up here, and my husband thinks I’m a little nuts sometimes, but then I bake him some pie and he forgets to be mad at me. I’m sorry, y’all, I’m rambling, was there anything in particular you wanted to know about the house or anything?"

Andy looks to Molly. She’s already discussed, in nothing but hypothetical and abstract terms, the security factors with a few people, including Charlie Young (who, if she has her way, will be heading up her Secret Service detail. If she wins.) so if Molly wants to go to school here, whether Andy is Congresswoman or the President-Elect, the biggest hurdle would probably be getting her to sort through her books, because there’s only so much space for bookshelves in these bedrooms.

"If I sign the acceptance letter right now, how fast can my paperwork get put through?"

 

 

**5\. Sparks on Your Tongue [The West Wing, Andy/Toby, pg-13. Kind of all about (one of) the miscarriage(s) Andy had. And about a United States Congresswoman sitting in a back booth of a bar at 2pm on a weekday, slowly but surely getting extremely hammered.]**

The doctor apologizes, but Toby doesn’t hear it. All he can hear is the sound of Andrea breathing; little hitches and gasps like she can’t get enough oxygen.

A nurse walks them to the door (side exit, can't make this harder on anyone) and comes with them right to the car, hugging Andy and pressing a few business cards into her hand as they pull apart.

The nurse doesn’t say she sorry, but Toby can tell she means it. She touches the side of Andy’s face and tells her to call if she needs anything. Toby wonders, idly, how many other women she’s told that to. Probably too many.

They’re halfway home, radio too low to hear over the wind from the open windows, when Andy says, "Pull over."

Toby sees what she’s looking at, thinks it’s a really bad idea, and then remembers. It doesn’t matter anymore. He finds a parking space, sticks a few coins in the meter, and catches up to Andy in time to hold the door for her. He’s only partly surprised when she orders a double Scotch, has it gone and is motioning the bartender for another in the time it takes Toby to pull money from his pocket.

The bartender looks at Andy, nods mostly to himself, and makes Toby trade him his car keys and twenty bucks for the remainder of the bottle. It’s barely half full.

They sit in the back, in the dark, and Toby watches as Andy pulls the business cards from her pocket, spreads them on the table like tarot cards, looks at them like they’ll be able to tell her why this happened. The glass leaves a ring on the scarred wood when Andy sets it down.

"Are you in pain?" Toby asks. He pauses. _Stupid question_. "I mean, physical pain? There’s a drugstore..." He doesn’t know what to do, but doesn’t like the idea of sitting her watching his ex-wife ( _his_ wife, _semantics can go fuck themselves_ ) drink herself into a blind stupor. Waking up tomorrow's going to be hard enough, but tomorrow with a hangover will be even worse.

Andy shakes her head and finally looks at him. She tries to smile and manages a crooked little twitch before the tears come. She passes him the glass. "Don’t let a girl drink alone, Toby."

He hasn’t backed out of any of this yet, and he’s not about to start now.

 

 

**6\. Five Ways that Molly is Like Her Mother [The West Wing, Molly Wyatt-Ziegler-centric, pg. Shamelessly borrows from Anne of Green Gables at one point, and references a couple people/things from my other fic[Family Histories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/67746), namely the fact that Toby's died. Family Histories actually fits, timeline-wise, in between things 4 and 5 of this piece.]**

1\. _Color_

Molly's hair begins to lighten just after she turns four. It worries Toby, who still has days where he can't actually believe he helped create these kids; he keeps waiting for Andy to tell him there was some mistake. Andy just laughs, pats his arm, and tells him to relax.

"Toby," she says each time, "wait ten years, okay? Then, I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to worry about it, plus an excuse to show off that bat you picked up on the field at Yankee Stadium."

Her first day of preschool, Billy pulls her hair and calls her Red; Molly calmly squeezes red paint out from the tube onto her hands and claps him on the head.

When the principal calls Toby, explains what happens, and asks him to please come pick Molly up, he realizes that he might not need the bat after all.

(He's still going to keep it. Just in case.)

2\. _Nicknames_

One night when Molly is five (and Huck is spending the night at Aunt CJ's house, because he's got the chicken pox), she pads into the living room after having her bath. She's changed into her pj's, and her bear is tucked firmly under one arm. They all follow this ritual every night; the kids say goodnight and get into bed, and then they get a story and tucked in properly.

"Goodnight, Mommy," she says, and Andy has to hold her wineglass above her head to avoid splashing the bear when Molly hugs her. She moves to Toby, sitting on the other end of the couch. "G'night, Pokey!"

Andy spills her wine, and doesn't stop laughing for nearly 20 minutes.

3\. _Good Taste_

The week before the kids start first grade, Andy takes them shopping.

The last stop is for new shoes. A compromise is quickly reached; Andy has the final say on new running shoes, but both children may pick out their own second pair.

Huck makes his choice quickly; a pair of dark brown hiking boots that cost a little too much, but that's what he wants, and Andy did promise he could pick whatever he wanted.

Molly takes longer, walking up and down the aisle, one hand hovering over the toes of all the shoes, occasionally reaching out one finger to touch a sparkle here, a ribbon there. She looks like the world's smallest military officer inspecting her silent battalion.

Andy turns away for a second to help Huck re-tie his own shoes. A moment later, Molly appears at her elbow. She's hugging a box to her chest, and even before she speaks, Andy knows that she'll refuse to leave the store without whatever's in it. "Mommy, I found them."

"Okay, Mol, try them on. Let me see how they fit you."

Molly sits down on the floor, with the box set in front of her. She opens it to reveal a pair of tall black boots that Andy thinks have a grown-up counterpart. In fact, she's pretty sure the grown-up pair of these boots are sitting in her closet at this very minute, unless CJ borrowed them and forgot to ask. Molly pulls them on, zips them up, and stands. She hesitates for a moment, adjusting to the fact that her feet are now an inch higher off the ground than normal, and slowly walks over to the mirror.

"Oh, Mommy," Molly breathes, turning in slow circles to admire the reflection of her feet, "everything's so much _prettier_ up here!"

Andy hands the clerk her credit card. "We won't need a box for these ones."

4\. _Quiet_

On Saturday mornings, or evenings when her dance lessons are cancelled and her homework's already done, Molly's favourite place in the world is the big chair in the living room. Molly loves the chair because it's soft, and because it's just the right size for her to sit sideways in; her legs over one arm, and her head resting against the other.

She can (and does) lie here for hours at a time, reading a book. Last time, when she was reading Anne of Green Gables (for the eighth time), Andy had to call her name three times, and then come over and tap her on the shoulder when it was time for dinner.

Molly didn't realize that she'd completely missed lunch; she hadn't been hungry, and the book was really, really, good.

5\. _Loss_

Molly gets a very big part in her latest recital, and she's thrilled; it isn't the lead, but it's close enough. She does nothing but dance for a week beforehand, even while she's helping set the table. Huck tries to sound annoyed with all the pink and ribbons (calling it "girly" and "icky"), but he's always within reach if she stumbles and trips over the edge of the rug.

The night of the recital, after Molly's changed back into her jeans, she finds Andy and Huck still in their front-row seats.

"What's going on?" she asks as she drops down onto the edge of the stage, letting her feet swing a little. If Huck stretched a little, they could probably tap each other's shoes.

He tosses a silver marker to her, and she gives him a curious look. She knows what it's for, but there's no way that _Huck_ knows about it.

"For your shoes," he says. "All the really famous dancers sign their shoes after every dance, and then they give them to somebody special."

"Yeah, I know," Molly says, quietly. After she signs her name (in big, loopy cursive letters, just how she learned in school a few weeks ago), she looks back up. "Mommy, can...can I take these to Daddy right now?"

"Of course, honey. It's cold outside, though, so do up your coat, okay?"

 

 

**7\. untitled [Friday Night Lights, post-series, Tami/Eric, they probably aren't getting out of bed anytime soon. (this was supposed to be a drabble, but I overshot the wordcount by about 15, whoops. also, plz to ignore Julie going to LSU if canon-deviance bothers you; at the time of this writing, I think I'd only watched up to the middle of S2.)**

Tami's alarm clock goes off, screaming _6:15_ , as usual.

The house is too quiet, and for a moment, she worries. Then she remembers. Julie's (hopefully) asleep in a dorm room at LSU, and Gracie's spending the weekend with Eric's parents.

"Eric," she says, patting his hip through the sheet, "baby, wake up."

Eric mutters something that only 20 years of marriage can decipher. Tami rolls over so she's facing him. He hasn't even opened his eyes. "We have the house to ourselves, hon. For two whole days."

Eric makes an agreeable noise and pulls the blankets tighter around his shoulder. Tami laughs, already planning what she'll do after breakfast...if they make it to the kitchen.

 

 

**8\. The Tricks of Remembrance [The West Wing, Andy & CJ, set in a vague time before the pilot episode, pg13]**

She tells CJ she's pregnant even before she tells Toby.

It wasn't intentional. She had just happened to run into CJ on the way to Toby's office. CJ had been in a hurry, of course, but she'd smiled and said, "Hey, Andy. What's new?"

She said it quickly, not really thinking. "I'm pregnant."

CJ nodded and got as far as, "Hey, that's gre-" when she stopped dead and turned around. She'd looked at Andy for a long moment, then took her arm gently and pulled her aside, allowing them a small measure of privacy in the busy hallway.

"Are you sure?" CJ's face was serious, and Andy suddenly felt very small beneath her gaze. She wished for a moment that she'd worn heels today.

Andy nodded and grinned impishly. "We spent two years and thousands of dollars trying, but apparently all it really took was a 6 hour blackout and a bottle of wine last month to do the trick."

They had both laughed at that; for a moment, they were back in college, teasing each other about which guy they'd gone to bed with after a party the previous night. CJ could never figure out how Andy could still remember all their names.

"That's _wonderful_ , Andy. Congratulations. You've told Toby already?" CJ smiled and pressed a hand against her ribcage, her fingers tapping gently across her belly. Andy knew exactly what the gesture meant; CJ had done the same thing when Andy told her Toby had proposed to her, right before she kissed them both in turn, square on the mouth. Toby had wondered, but never asked.

Andy shook her head. "No, I saw you first. Act surprised when he tells you, okay?"

 

 

**9\. The Life of The Party [prompted from an LJ comm I used to co-mod. The request was that Donna be paired with Sam; the prompter also wanted a bar and evening wear included, and no mentions of Josh. I went gen with the request. (Also, holy wow, this is originally from June of 2006.)**

Donna stays at the party for an exactly one hour and seven minutes. In her opinion, it's about an hour and two minutes more than necessary.

She says a few quick goodbyes and headed for the door. If she was lucky, she could make last call at the bar a few blocks from her apartment. She probably wouldn't have time to change before she did, but that wasn't a big deal; in D.C., it was better to be overdressed. No one batted an eye to it, anyways.

The bar was about half full when she arrived. The bartender, whom she'd met the first week she moved here and was always friendly toward her, looked from Donna's face to her dress, and had her drink mixed and poured almost before her butt hit the barstool.

"Lousy party?" he asks, setting two napkins down next to the glass.

"It wasn't awful, but pretty close, Eric. Thanks for the drink." Donna pulls the fruit from her glass. Normally, she liked to tie a knot in the stem, but tonight, she only ate the cherry and set the stem on the napkin. The lemon slice stayed on the edge of the glass.

"No problem. And, uh, I think your date followed you in here," Eric says, nodding to the door. Donna turns, glass in hand, and sees Sam scanning the crowd. She catches his eye and waves him over.

"You bailed too, huh?" Sam says to Donna as he motions to the bartender for a drink. A moment later, a glass is set next to his hand, and he nods his thanks. "Donna, do me a favour; if I ever start bragging about my old law firm, or how much money I was making, remind me of tonight, and those guys I was stuck talking to for the better part of half an hour, okay?"

Donna laughs. "I will, as long as you remind me that next time, I need to pick a dress I can actually walk in, not just one that looks nice."

"Deal. Of course, you look more gorgeous than nice, but I see where you're going with it."

Donna turns slightly to look at him, a curious smile on her face. "You're calling me gorgeous?"

"I am," Sam says after he takes a long swallow of his drink. "If you could walk in it without feeling like you're suffocating, I'd say you should wear it more often. You look good in blue."

"Would you wear that tux, then, or will I be in formal wear while you're in a pair of jeans and your old Princeton sweatshirt?"

"Hey, I happen to like that sweatshirt. It's been through a lot with me," Sam protests. Anyone overhearing them right now would think that they're dating, but they both know better.

Donna finishes her drink and sets down the glass. She checks her watch and sighs. "You know what?"

"We have to go back?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure Leo's figured out that we bailed, and it's bad enough that we'll have to face his wrath in the morning. Now imagine listening to that while battling a hangover."

Sam grimaces. "I'll get us a cab."

They pay for their drinks. Donna follows Sam out onto the sidewalk, noticing for the first time the chill in the air. It definitely wasn't this cold half an hour ago when she got here. She shivers slightly, and Sam takes off his jacket, tucking it around her shoulders.

"You didn't wear a coat?" he says, surprised. "Donna, it's the middle of October."

Donna shrugs. "Thanks. No, I wasn't really thinking about that; I just wanted to get away from the party for a few minutes."

"And you don't keep a coat stashed in your office, or anything?"

"Yeah, but it would clash with my dress," she says, looking serious. Just then, a cab pulls up alongside them.

"You're crazy, Donna."

Donna laughs. "Yes, I am. Now get in the cab."

 

 

**10\. All of This Past [The West Wing, Ainsley & CJ. Another one from 2006 at the old LJ comm. My prompt asked for something wherein Ainsley and CJ find they have something in common. It was to be set in the second season, and fluffy, but not *too* fluffy, without any slash. (There's a mention here of CJ's mom being dead, but that's about as specific and angsty as it gets.)**

Ainsley's been at the White House two weeks, just long enough for her to get sick of the blank cement walls of the office. (The heat down there isn't stifling yet; that comes later.) Slowly, things are making their way into the office to make it her own.

She's preparing a position paper for Leo late one night, concentrating on it so intently that when CJ shows up in the doorway, she has to knock twice while calling her name before Ainsley even looks up.

"Oh, good evening, CJ. I didn't hear you come down."

CJ waves away the unspoken apology, sitting down in the chair Ainsley gestures to. "I understand; it happens to me all the time. Carol keeps telling me that she's just going to start shooting Nerf darts at my head to get my attention. She just keeps forgetting to bring the thing into work."

Ainsley laughs, and then her attention is pulled to the bag CJ's holding in her left hand. Mostly because there's curly silver and shiny-blue ribbons tied to the top, and she can't be sure, but she doesn't think that CJ's really the 'fancy ribbons on a gift' kind of woman.

"What's in the bag?"

CJ passes it across the desk. "It's for you."

Ainsley can't help but laugh as she pulls a 6-pack of Fresca out from the tissue wrappings. "Aw, CJ, thank you so much. Y'all really got this for me?"

"I did. It's probably a pretty lame 'welcome to the White House' gift...actually, I'm pretty sure it's one of the lamest gifts ever...but it's really the only thing I know for sure that you like, so..."

"No, CJ, I love it. It was very thoughtful of you to get me anything, really."

"Well, if my older brother taught me anything, it's that it's always a good idea to be nice to new co-workers; otherwise, they pull nasty pranks on you, and you end up drinking coffee with dish soap in it instead of cream."

Ainsley laughs. "My brother pulled that prank on a guy once. He always does crazy things like that; drove our mama crazy."

CJ's smile falters, just for a second, and Ainsley realizes she's said something wrong. She doesn't know what it is, and she doesn't know CJ well enough to know if she can ask about it. "CJ?"

CJ shakes her head and keeps her eyes on a box in the corner that Ainsley hasn't had time to unpack yet. "Sorry. Long story. So, how've your first couple of weeks been? I love what you've done with your office. These pipes look great."

Ainsley glances up at her for a fraction of a second, just enough to realize she's teasing. A moment later, they're both laughing like teenaged girls at a slumber party. When it passes, CJ stands up.

"It's late, and I should let you get back to whatever you were doing. I just wanted to, you know, say hi."

"CJ?"

CJ turns, one hand on the doorframe. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

CJ pauses, and Ainsley thinks for a moment that CJ's angry with her. Instead, CJ just shakes her head slightly. "It's okay. Really."

The next night, Ainsley finds herself in CJ's office doorway; they end up drinking coffee and talking until well past midnight. CJ doesn't tell her everything about her mother, not then, but Ainsley thinks that one day, she might.

 

 

**11\. Noon isn't Happy Hour (but who's counting?) [The West Wing, CJ & Ainsley, G-rated. Reposted from 2006, set on January 20th of whatever year Matt Santos won the election. My prompter wanted this to be slash, but this is pretty gen.]**

It’s the middle of the day, and she no longer has an office to go back to after lunch. (Just as well, because she didn’t eat lunch anyways.)

She ends up at this bar in Georgetown, one they used to go to all the time, and the bartender (bless him) doesn’t even blink when she asks for a double Scotch instead of her usual. _First one’s on me, today, CJ, you look like you could use it_ , as he sets the heavy glass down and turns away to switch the tv from the news to the game.

It’s just an exhibition game, a little post-season goof-off, but a welcome distraction nonetheless. (Too bad Collins is still out sick and the backup kid can’t throw a decent snap to save his life.)

The food here’s almost better than the drinks, and she’s suddenly starving, so she orders without really looking at the menu and takes her drink to one of the back booths to wait.

Nearly finished her second drink, and a shadow falls at her elbow; she figures it’s the waitress, until the shadow wavers and slides in across from her, knees brushing her own. "Hey, CJ. Mind if I join you?"

CJ looks up, clearly surprised, but she covers it well. After all, she’s had years of practice. "Hi, Ainsley. Yeah, sit down. I’m just...well, eating lunch here since I can’t just grab something and take it back to my office. Since I no longer have an office. And I’m drinking, clearly."

"Clearly," Ainsley nods. The waitress arrives then, bearing loaded plates, and Ainsley can’t help but raise an eyebrow. "Either you’re hungrier than I’ve ever seen you, or else you knew I was coming."

"I was gonna invite Jackson over there to join me if you hadn’t shown up," CJ says, nodding toward the man sitting at a scarred wooden table several feet away. "You’d be surprised at the stories he could tell you."

"I don’t doubt it." There’s something familiar about him, but Ainsley isn’t surprised. In this town, everyone’s related by a matter of degrees. "Listen, CJ, you know you can’t stay here all afternoon. You should go back to-"

"Go back to what, work? Ainsley, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but as of about two hours ago, I am no longer employed. My office has been cleared out, my security access has been fully revoked, and as I got in my car to leave the parking lot, a guy in paint splattered coveralls was waiting to cover over my name on the little ‘Reserved for’ sign on my parking space."

Ainsley doesn’t speak for a minute. After a moment, she glances up; CJ’s looking intently at her glass, ice rattling as she turns the glass in her hands. "CJ, I just meant that if you’re planning on having more than a few drinks-which I completely understand, and will be more than happy to join you in doing, if you’ll allow me-then it would undoubtedly be more comfortable to go back to your place, not to mention the drinks would be cheaper."

CJ nods. "You would not be wrong. Plus, I wouldn’t be at risk of falling asleep face first into the spinach and artichoke dip; I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted; it feels like I haven’t slept in years."

Ainsley snags a couple of fries off CJ’s plate. "CJ, you’ve been helping President Bartlet run the country for the past eight years, of course you haven’t slept. Now, are you planning on finishing your Reuben, or are you just going to take it home and eat it tomorrow for breakfast?"

CJ smiles, and passes Ainsley the plate.

 

 

**~end~**


End file.
